


Nine

by Wicked_Northstar



Category: Cross-country skiing RPF, Skiing RPF
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Northstar/pseuds/Wicked_Northstar
Summary: "Learning to tolerate pain is not supposed to be scary. It’s necessary if you want to be the best. Take it, fight it, and try to not break from it. It’s the same toughness you need on the track, you know?"When Johannes finds himself forced to kneel on the ice cold, tiled floor, he knows very well what's coming. It's not the first time, it won't be the last.





	Nine

He had never imagined that his desire to look cool could be an additional discomfort. In fact, he had picked the artfully ripped jeans deliberately today, trying to look suitably relaxed and casual. That choice had, however, been made hours before now.

Before he had been forced to kneel on this ice cold, tiled floor. His knees hurt from being in that position already now; his wrists ached from being tied painfully behind his back.

Johannes stifled a sigh, trying to force the fear to the back of his mind. He knew it. This was not going to be easy. It would hurt, and probably even worse than he could imagine right now. However, he wasn't going to give Didrik the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

"Just get it over with," he hissed, with a defiant look over his shoulder. 

Didrik just chuckled at that. "Eager, now?" he sneered, touching a hand to Johannes' cheek as he moved into his field of vision. "Tell me about your belt first?" 

Of course. Of course, that. It was a black leather belt with two rows of studs all the way around it. It had been a Christmas present last year, and he had worn it quite often since then. However, this question was new. A new way of poking at his emotions, undoubtedly. 

He tried to brush it off. 

"There's nothing much to tell." 

However, he still flinched at the touch when Didrik reached down to undo the belt clip. "Nice," he remarked, almost thoughtfully, allowing his hand to wander and brush the front of Johannes' jeans briefly before he turned his attention towards the belt again.

"You didn't answer my question, though," he continued a moment later, deftly threading the belt from the loops as his lips curved into a slight smirk. "Where do you have this from?"

Johannes looked away, suddenly afraid that the look in his eyes would give away more than he wanted it to. "It was a Christmas gift," he replied quietly. "From Ola, last year." 

He didn't need to look up to know that the smirk had widened. He could tell from the satisfied tone of voice; that poisonous expression of glee.

"Perfect! Kid's got taste, I'll give him that."

Johannes reacted immediately. "Don't talk about him like that!" This time he did not even try to hide the fire in his voice. For a brief second, he wasn't even scared, such was the intensity of his protective instinct. 

"It's true, though", Didrik grinned in response. His fingers lazily caressed the belt in his hand, then stopped for a moment at the studs as if checking their sharpness. Despite the fact that they were conic rather than spiked, he still gave a small, content nod. 

"This," he said as he used his free hand to lift Johannes' jaw and force eye contact, "will be absolutely perfect."

***

It wasn’t even the touch itself that made him shiver. Didrik’s hands were gentle enough against the naked skin on his back. These touches were soft and kind, just lightly caressing his skin. If he didn’t know better, he would have been able to relax against that touch. Even the sudden, slight scraping of nails on his lower back would not have made him wonder. 

It didn’t hurt. However, it still made him tense up, because he knew this routine more than well enough.

The caressing continued, pausing only to leave a little scratch in a couple more spots. On his lower back again, then once more on his right shoulder. The hand on his shoulder traced a line from the mark to the same spot on his other shoulder. Almost impatient, now; not quite as gentle as before in the way it came to rest on the ideal spot. A moment later, Didrik snaked an arm around him and forced him to lean into him with a determined hand indicating what he wanted. 

If the kiss to his forehead was meant as an expression of kindness, it didn’t feel like it. Johannes couldn’t help trying to writhe away from it; inadvertently fighting the feeling of being helplessly trapped.

Didrik just chuckled at that. "Are you scared?"

It wasn’t really a question. It was pure malicious amusement in the shape of a question that had only one answer.

Johannes nodded slightly and murmured in response, well aware that any attempt at maintaining his pride and saying no would have been met with a couple of hard blows to his face and a sharp remark about not lying. He had tried that in the past; learned that lesson already. 

"Good. And at least you’re honest." The satisfied tone became more serious after a short silence. "Learning to tolerate pain is not supposed to be scary. It’s necessary if you want to be the best. Take it, fight it, and try to not break from it. It’s the same toughness you need on the track, you know?"

A sudden hard push in his back underlined the words, and forced him to shift position to keep balance. The rope around his wrists tightened as he automatically tried to move his hands, undoubtedly leaving burns on his skin already now. It was a sharp pain at first, but he knew it would recede as soon as he got used to it. The sting in his conscience worked in much the same way, at least as long as he couldn’t allow himself to feel it for more than a brief moment. 

"I know," he said quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor. "Just get it over with, okay?"

***

Even a second felt like an eternity in this state. It gave him time to think, time to truly take in what would inevitably happen in a few moments. He could feel his skin crawl, but he neither moved nor tried to look over his shoulder as he felt Didrik take the necessary steps back.

 _Now_ , he thought darkly, flinching at the first snap of his belt. However, there was no impact, no immediate feeling of burning pain against his skin.

Predictably, the reaction was met with an icy, all too familiar laugh. "You’re not that jumpy, are you? It didn’t even touch you yet!"

A moment later, a hand on his back traced a diagonal line between two of the tiny nail marks from earlier. In a twisted expression of tenderness, it pointed out the ideal line of impact. 

"You know how this works. When you break, I stop. Don’t try any tricks, because that will hurt you much more. Is that clear?"

Johannes murmured softly in response; more a sound of reluctant understanding than any actual words. In his mind, he was already busy preparing for the first lash, trying to brace himself for the impact. However, Didrik was not satisfied with anything less than full attention and explicit agreement.

"I asked you," he said with dangerous calmness, as he moved around to stand directly in front of the younger man. "Is. That. Clear?"

Johannes looked up. "Yes," he said. "Yes, Sir."

"Good boy. And it’s nice to know that we agree."

***

Agreement, Johannes thought grimly, was a stupidly overrated concept. The whole idea implied choice and possibilities; things he didn’t have at the moment. He tried to push the thought aside in favour of focusing on his surroundings. Footsteps. Breathing. A click in the belt clip that most likely indicated a change of grip. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could predict the moment of impact and hopefully minimise the hurt.

_One._

Neither focus nor mental preparation could have prepared him for this. Subconsciously, he has expected it to be not too different from the regular leather belt that Didrik had used on him before. He could handle that, at least for a while. This, however, stung in an entirely different way. Perhaps he should have thought of it already at the stupid air snap a moment ago. It had sounded different; heavier, because of the studs. 

The pricking sensation in his back faded slightly as he drew a slightly sharper breath than he had wanted. A moment later, he had refocused his gaze, staring defiantly straight ahead as he waited.

_Two._

A yelp of pain slipped past his lips. Partly because he had been focused on waiting, and therefore failed to realise the danger before it hit with full force. Perhaps also partly because this blow had been considerably harder and more precise than the first one.

_Three._

There was no time to adjust for that one. Johannes pulled desperately at the rope around his wrists as he gasped for air. However, once the first shock had faded, the pain in his back was not as bad as it first seemed. Most likely, there would be grazes and cuts by now, but nothing that bad. Besides, the droplets he could feel on his skin were probably just sweat.

He hoped so. Besides, he had to keep telling himself that; had to cling to hope and sensibility if he was going to stay in control.

_Four._

Tears. Unwanted, silent tears burned his cheeks as he shivered in agony after the last lash. It took him a moment to regain control after that, a few tries to even breathe normally. Even the pain did not fade anymore. It burned with fiery intensity, leaving him unable to stop the hated tears even as he bowed his head in sudden shame.

None of that was the worst, though. The worst was that gentle hand against his cheek, wiping the tears away just before Didrik kneeled next to him and leaned in to breathe a few words in his ear.

"Do you even know how beautiful you are like this?"

_Five._

The moment was over quickly, but the lustful tone in Didrik’s voice could not be mistaken anymore. Even as Johannes fought to avoid crying out, he still failed to get the words, or the accompanying touch, out of his mind. 

The tone of voice had been maddening, there was no other word for it. The possessive tone, that little hitch, just from saying a simple word, the sudden mockingly soft touch messing with his ability to detach and handle this brutality calmly enough to break only on the outside.

Had that been Didrik’s plan all along? Or was it just pure, uncontrolled, lust?

The thought scared him far more than the next blow.

_Six._

The studs hit almost perfectly this time, tearing at his skin and leaving angry red welts in their wake. He sobbed, now, hating himself for being unable to contain his despair. However, Didrik was still merciless, ignoring the shivering as he leaned down from behind.

"I thought you were tougher than that?" 

Johannes nodded carefully, well aware that whatever pride he still had left was being used against him in the most cruel way possible. Such words, such mistrust were a shattering blow to his self-confidence, and poked at his need to be Good Enough, whatever that meant in this situation.

He breathed deeply to regain control over his voice, then stifled a cry as he managed to turn his head and focus his gaze on Didrik for a short moment.

"I am," he said with determination. "Come on."

_Seven._

He regretted the moment of courage immediately. Excruciating pain caused his whole body to convulse, and for a moment he felt almost paralysed as the anguish engulfed him. He had no strength to fight it off anymore, no willpower left to tell himself that it wasn’t that bad. Even as he writhed and pulled against the ropes again, it was an uncontrolled motion - one that caused him further hurt by making the cuts on his wrists that little bit deeper and more visible.

He bit his lip, using the last bit of determination he had left to avoid making a single sound.

The taste of blood in his mouth felt like a small victory. At the very least he had managed to keep quiet, to endure this torment without protesting or giving in. No matter how bitter the aftertaste would be, he had to take what he could now. 

Much to his surprise, Didrik gave him a small break after that. A few moments to breathe, before he felt a hand under his jaw and hot breath against his face. Despite the fact that the grip hardened as soon as he tried to turn his head, he managed to avert his eyes to avoid direct eye contact.

This closeness, this humiliating way of gauging his reactions terrified him beyond reason. The sudden kiss to his cheek, and the touch of a tongue lapping at his tears, burned just as much as the lashes from earlier. Differently, but just as intensely. A moment later, the grip on his jaw loosened as Didrik moved slightly away, but his lips still trembled under the touch of one lingering finger.

"Gorgeous," Didrik remarked softly, apparently taking in the moment with all of his senses as his lips curved into a possessive smile. However, the moment faded quickly, and once he took his finger away he was still in that same dangerous mood as before.

"You’re still fighting," he said, with mock admiration in his voice. 

"Of course, what did you think?" Johannes thought to himself. He wanted to spit the words out, fiercely, but they remained unspoken because his voice would not be strong enough for that kind of protest right now. However, once he dared to meet Didrik’s gaze, he made sure that the look in his eyes was still defiant.

That earned him a chuckle and a hard slap to his cheek. 

"Well, tell me when you’ve had enough."

_Eight._

It was the words he remembered in detail. The words, the tone of voice, the confident sneer that should have been a clear warning that he had lost already there. The mind-numbing, blinding agony of the impact got lost in his own scream - a sound so intense that he could still feel it in his throat long after he had quieted.

It was the first sign of defeat. The thought scared him first, then gave way to shame and a sense of broken emptiness that he couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t even care about the way Didrik kneeled down next to him and pulled him into a close embrace. A moment ago, he would have tried to escape that, well aware that they weren’t done yet. Now, however, he just remained still, unable to care about the hand in his hair or the embracing arm trying to find a comfortable position on the small part of his back that was still unhurt.

"You’re so good at this," Didrik said quietly. "I’m so proud of you."

Johannes nodded slowly against him, then murmured softly. He still needed a few moments to find his voice, but once he shifted out of the embrace to cough a couple of times, he managed to speak almost clearly. 

"Un… untie my hands?" he pleaded; unsure about the reply he was going to get. The moment of care and kindness had not fooled him, and sure enough, the magic shattered as soon as he spoke. 

"Because?"

"Because I can’t…" He struggled to find the words, or an explanation that didn’t sound like defeat. "It hurts," he said instead, unable to hide a wince as he tried to shrug.

Didrik understood immediately. "If you have the strength to ask for that, you have the strength to handle one more."

He did, however, reach for the dagger he kept on his belt. Then, with agonisingly slow movements, and a very deliberate touch of metal against skin, he cut the ropes from Johannes’ wrists.

_Nine._

Perhaps his reaction was too predictable. 

As soon as Johannes regained free movement of his arms, he tried to get up from the uncomfortable position. However, he was in no condition to do it in the usual swift and effortless way, and he only managed to get on his hands and knees before another lash of the belt hit him, hard. The change in position only made it worse, leaving him more vulnerable and less capable of handling the impact with dignity. 

Not that he cared about that anymore.

He collapsed with a low moan of despair, unable to even scream properly as his breath came in short gasps. A few moments later, he managed to force words past his lips as he curled into a ball.

"No," he breathed. "Please, no more."

Despite the fact that his eyes fluttered shut as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the quiet plea still tasted bitterly on his lips. In his competitive mind, even this was about the same traits he needed on the track. About strength. About dignity. About never giving up, ever. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel the sting in his heart that told him he had failed. 

Again. 

The thought did not settle. Not yet. For that, he was too broken to think clearly. The peaceful darkness around him gave him a welcome break from having to see the bruises on his wrists or the droplets of blood on the floor, but the fear still remained tangible as he shivered lightly against the hand that slowly came to rest on his shoulder.

"No," Didrik agreed quietly. "I promise you, no more."

It took a while for Johannes to truly feel any relief at those words. It wasn't even that he didn't believe them, it was his sensory system that refused to accept kindness and hopefulness as real possibilities at the moment. Even though he allowed Didrik to pull him up to a sitting position and into a careful embrace, he remained tense and fearful. It was, however, easier to accept the closeness and the hand threading softly into his hair than it was to writhe away from it. 

"I promise, I won’t hurt you now," Didrik told him again, reluctantly untangling himself from their embrace to make eye contact.

Even that was too much. Too difficult. Johannes only managed to meet the gaze for a moment, before he had to look away.

"I know," he answered instead. Because it was easier - safer - than trying to deal with how he really felt. The more it started to register in his mind what he had been through, the more he wanted to bolt. If he had been less hurt, he might even have tried that - without regard to his own safety, and without caring that going back to the cottage he shared with Eirik would obviously mean getting questioned on his injuries, and on why he could barely even stand on his legs. The thought made him bite his lip, thoughtfully.

"Do you have painkillers?" he asked a moment later. "In your room?"

"I have," Didrik affirmed. Despite the fact that his lips curved into a slight smile, his tone of voice remained serious. "Painkillers, and I have something for your back as well. You need someone to take a good look at that."

Such considerate words, and yet it was just a subtle reminder that he had no-one else he could trust. Nowhere else to go, and no-one else who would take care of him in the same way. 

With a sigh of resignation, Johannes scrambled to his feet and allowed Didrik to lead him away.


End file.
